


Rising Storm

by halfegyptiancotton



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Future Fic, Political Alliances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 15:54:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4025875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfegyptiancotton/pseuds/halfegyptiancotton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winter has ended and Daenerys has taken the Iron Throne, but another young queen remains in the Stormlands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the war, and the younger generations have been aged-up. Shireen is 18-19 and Rickon is 16-17. Daenerys is in her 20s. Much of the information regarding the current situation is revealed through dialogue and exposition.

_“Take my daughter.”_

_“No, please—!”_

_“—My King?”_

_“Do it now!”_

_Shireen was quickly pulled onto a horse by Gendry. Stannis approached them with his sword unsheathed and his face determined. He placed a hand against his daughter’s ashen cheek._

_“If I do not return, you will be Queen of the the Seven Kingdoms.”_

_She shook her head, tears running down her face and onto her father’s gloved hands._

_“You will be Queen,” he repeated, more softly this time. “So you must not cry.”_

_“Yes, Father.”_

_He smiled at her. “Then go. Ride fast."_

_With that, the horse raced into the woods, Gendry’s arms tight around her. The princess turned her head to catch a last glimpse of her father standing amidst the rush of war, his head heavy and eyes darkened by the sudden loss._

_“Your father will return, Princess.”  
_

_Gendry’s words did little too soothe her. Her father was a great warrior, a great leader, but he had lost battles before. And she wasn’t sure if he could escape this one._

 

Shireen Baratheon belonged to an ancient line of storm kings, though she had never seen Storm’s End herself. It had belonged to her uncle King Robert and then her uncle Renly the Usurper, and now it had become hers. She stared out into the sea and tried to imagine her father as a young man sailing through the cold wind.

“I will give you Storm’s End.” The Targaryen Queen of the East had stepped onto the shores with her riding boots and pretty silver hair, knowing full well that the war was won just by her presence.

Shireen’s knees buckled against her words. Never in her life had she been so furious, but fury would bring her no peace, no comfort. Her father the King was dead, and he had given his last breath to this country that Daenerys Targaryen and her horde would surely sack.

“What about Dragonstone?”

The queen’s violet eyes narrowed. “What about Dragonstone?”

“I grew up there. It was my home for many years. My title was the ‘Princess of Dragonstone.’”

Daenerys offered a condescendingly sweet smile. “It was my home long before it was yours, Lady Baratheon. It is the ancient seat of my family, and I shall be returning it to its rightful guardianship.”

Shireen said nothing.

“So it is settled,” she proceeded. “You shall be the new Lady Paramount of the Stormlands, as you are the last Baratheon heiress.

Her words struck her with such a black, empty feeling, but she did not dare show it. If her father had taught her anything, it was not to betray herself with her expression. “Thank you.”

The queen’s smile widened, quite pleased with herself with how easy this has all been. She did not know the toil that King Stannis had endured, all the suffering he bore for his daughter to become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, now lost. She took Shireen’s hand in hers.

“I just want you to know that I do not blame you for the sins of your family. You were not even born when King’s Landing was taken by your father.”

“My uncle."

“What?”   

“My uncle King Robert took King’s Landing. My father was beseiged here, at Storm’s End, with my mother during the Rebellion.” She blinked lifelessly, trying desperately to conceal her smugness with a tone of grief. “They were starving, but they held it for a year. Until the Onion Knight came.”

“Ah yes, you are right.” The queen pursed her lips. “You must tell me more of the Onion Knight and his adventures when I return."

“I shall, my queen. It is important for you to know our history.”

 

The Silver Queen had made a point not to stay in the Baratheon household, and Shireen likewise chose not to watch her leave on her great beast. When she was a child, she often fantasized about riding dragons and living as a Targaryen queen. Now, she despised the notion. Her father was right; the Targaryen histories were follies.

Shireen returned to the castle to see Rickon Stark fighting in the courtyard with one of her father’s sworn knights.

“Don’t you ever tire of trying to stab someone with a sword?” she yelled at them.

“Don’t you ever tire of reading books?” Rickon snapped back, throwing her a smile over his shoulder while dodging an attack.

She leaned against one of the columns. He had turned into quite the warrior during his years with his wildling mentor in Skagos. He had grown handsome too, though she didn’t like to admit it to herself.

Rickon twisted around his opponent and struck him in the back of the leg, knocking him down. The fight had ended; the Stark had won. Both men laughed for a moment before Rickon moved toward the Storm Queen.

“What did _she_ want?” he asked.

“To put me in my place.” She move a piece of black hair behind her ear and exhaled. “I am no longer Princess of the Seven Kingdoms.”

His face soured. “No, you are the rightful queen.”

“You musn’t say that.”

“But you are. My father fought for your father’s supremacy, and I will fight for you.”

She looked down at her hands. “All those years… all those wars. My uncle Robert took the whole of Westeros to see the Targaryens pay for their crimes against us. All the battles between your brother, the Lannisters, the iron born, for what? For another Targaryen to come and take the throne once more?”

“But she has no issue?”

She nodded. “None but her dragons.”

“Perhaps she will name you as her heir?”

Shireen threw her head back with a laugh. “She despises my family; we are usurpers to her. She will never see me recognized as a princess again.”

He studied her face for a moment before speaking, much more softly this time. “My family will not yield to her rule.”

“We need peace, Rickon. The only way to get that is to bend the knee to her.”

His grey eyes narrowed. “For now.”

“Despite our… losses, we are fortunate to have achieved what we have. Your sister is the Lady of the Vail, your brother is Warden of the North, and I have kept my family’s seat in Storm’s End.”

“And what do I have?”

“You are heir to Winterfell. You should return and keep your brother safe.”

“But I want to keep you safe.”

Shireen smiled. She knew the boy meant well, but it was starting to appear unseemly for such a knight, with such a wild reputation, to be so devoted to her.

“I am so lucky to have you in my life, Rickon,” she said, touching his arm. “But we must look to our houses now. You are a highborn lord, and you need to marry well to maintain your family’s position.”

He looked like he was about to speak. His eyes danced with a question he knew he couldn’t ask, but he stopped himself. “But I don’t want to marry.”

“Many of us don’t.”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know.” Her eyes returned to the floor, suddenly uncomfortable. “My line will not continue no matter what I do. I will no know more Baratheons… but I would like to give Storm’s End to my children.”

Rickon gazed up at the highest tower. “It is a fine castle.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shireen greets the lords and ladies of the Stormlands as Queen Daenerys' appointed Lady Paramount.

_Storm Queen, Storm Queen._ The words rumbled through the immense feast with a quiet urgency. Shireen was not sure if she resented the title or adored it. There was only one Storm Queen before her, Argella Durrandon, and she bore the name while she watched her father die. Then she locked herself in the highest tower of Storm’s End until she was finally stripped and relinquished by her own followers.

A shiver crawled down Shireen’s spine as she gazed over the hall. Many Stormland lords had come to congratulate the new Lady Paramount. There were some great families from the Reach as well, including her mother’s house.

No, she couldn’t let herself think it.

She rested her chin on her hands, watching her cousin Gendry. She figured he was one of the most handsome knights in the realm, with the brute strength and dark look of a true Baratheon. She sunk into her chair, suddenly quite aware of her weakness and scarring. No pretty lace gowns or intricate Southron hairstyle would restore her face or transform her into a great match for a highborn lord. Not even Storm’s End was enough of a draw when she would probably remain barren like her mother. Her name will fade from this world, and her bones will be crushed to dust. And yet, for all her resentment, she could not treat her cousin with anything but wretched adoration and gratefulness.

Rickon sat beside her, chatting with her uncle Axell before turning his attention to her.

“My queen?”

She became ill at the word. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why?”

She leaned away from him. “It is not my title. It never will be.”

His gray eyes softened. “Are you alright? You haven’t eaten anything.”

She stabbed a piece of meat with her fork and place it in her mouth, chewing with the begrudging attitude of a child under orders.

“There,” she said. “Happy?”

He smiled. “Very.”

“When will you be returning to Winterfell?”

“You want me to leave?”

“I didn’t say that.”

A brief silence passed between them as both of their gazes awkwardly redirected to their plates. The hall seemed to grow louder in their chatter and music, revelling in the return of a spring harvest.

“I don’t know when I’ll leave,” said Rickon. “But perhaps in the next few days—?”

“—Pardon, my lady?”

Shireen lifted her eyes to see Donnel Swann at her shoulder. He was dressed handsomely in black and white, the colors of his house.

“Hello, Ser Donnel.” She bowed her head graciously. “How are you?”

“I am well, my lady. Thank you.” He threw a quick glance at Rickon before focusing back on Shireen. “May I have a dance?”

“Oh, I would like to, but I don’t want to leave my guests too long.”

“Go, my dear,” piped Axell, grinning over Rickon’s shoulder. “We will be fine without your sulking.”

Shireen blushed against her uncle’s loud tone, and took the young knight’s hand. He led her to the middle of the dance floor, where many pretty ladies and lords were already dancing. The pageantry of it all made her feel awkward, and she wondered what her father would say if he could see his daughter dressed so elegantly and parading herself around her family’s halls. She stumbled over a few steps, but fought through the dance with as much grace as she could muster, all the while feeling Rickon’s heavy gray gaze on her.

When the song ended, the whole hall looked upon her and clapped.

“Well done, Lady Shireen!” cheered Lord Estermont, full of wine and laughter. “Bravo!”

She dipped her head modestly, not quite sure of what to say.

Her dancing partner bowed before her with a smile.

Her eyes focused on Rickon as he rose from his seat and held out his own goblet. “To House Baratheon!”

“To House Baratheon!” the hall repeated. Shireen recognized the Hightowers and some Redwynes among them, drinking deeply to the new Lady Paramount.

“Ours is the fury!”

Shireen looked over her shoulder to see Gendry Rivers, his lips twisted in a smile. Her cousin met her blue eyes with his own, oozing confidence that she had never recognized in him before. They were not his words, but they may as well have been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is a little short, but this scene felt so complete and 'right' on its own. I'm done traveling for a while so the updates will come much faster than this one, I promise. As always, comments of all types are welcome! I hope you like it :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany discusses the new 'Storm Queen' with her new small council.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is admittedly a little different from the previous two chapters, but I wanted to give a little of Dany's perspective on Shireen's situation. So there's a considerable shift in environment and characters. Hope no one minds the change too much.

“You need to put a stop to her.”

Daenerys burst with a smile. “You must be joking.”

Jorah shook his head. “I am not.”

The queen looked around her small council, whose faces were all grave.

“Ser Jorah, you know I respect your counsel, but you’re being a bit dramatic. She’s a sickly girl. What’s there to be scared of?”

“She’s hardly a girl, your grace,” said Ser Barristan. “They are calling her ‘The Last Storm Queen.’”

“Exactly. The _last_.”

“It may be some time before she dies, after all she did survive greyscale as a child.”

Daenerys’ face twisted with annoyance. “I’m still not convinced she’s a threat. She has no army, no means of securing her position.”

“I have a feeling,” said Tyrion quietly, tapping his fingers on the chair arm. “That she will receive support from the North. The Starks have a strange affinity for the Baratheons.”

“An affinity?” she snorted. “For her?”

The dwarf nodded slowly, his eyes fixated on his queen. “Do not underestimate Baratheon charisma. It did bring down the Targaryen dynasty once, and it could happen again.”

The Dragon Queen slowly exhaled, her violet eyes rolling to the ceiling of the small council chamber. She had risen from near-slavery to Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, with the backing of the Martells, Tyrells, and all of Slaver’s Bay in her dominion. She would not be usurped by some little grayscale brat from the Stormlands.

“Even with the Starks, she is nothing.”

“Do not forget: the Starks have Winterfell and the Eyrie,” Jorah spoke darkly. “Sansa Stark is newly married to Lord Hardying.”

Barristan, Varys, Jorah, and Daenerys all looked at Tyrion.

“It was not very clever of you to annull your marriage to Sansa Stark,” she snapped.

“No,” he said. “I suppose it wasn’t.”

The room went quiet for a moment. Daenerys folded her arms over her chest and looked to Jorah. “So what would you have me do?”

“Remove her from Storm’s End. She cannot raise an army if she has no seat and no title.”

“That’s what you would do?”

“Aye.”

She turned to her Hand, Tyrion Lannister. “You know the Baratheons quite well, Lord Tyrion.”

“There is no soul on Westeros who does not know the Baratheons. And their fury.”

“So you agree with Ser Jorah?”

“Your choice to keep her as Lady Paramount was a good one, as it showed great mercy and reverence for her noble family. If you confiscate her lands, not only will the lords of the Stormlands view it as a slight to their tradition, but you will make yourself a potent enemy in her, even more likely to cause trouble. She will have nothing to lose. I do not know her well, but she always struck me as her father’s daughter, even as a babe.” A knowing smirk crossed his lips. “Beneath that sweet battered face lies the heart of a conqueror.”

Dany shifted uncomfortably. She had not forgotten how Stannis had butchered her nephew Aegon as he approached Storm’s End. “So I do nothing, then?”

“Nothing directly.” He and Varys exchanged glances. “This is not Essos; our enemies must be undone carefully.”

“There is another Baratheon that we must fear, my queen,” said the eunuch, leaning back in his chair. “A boy.”

“Oh?” Daenerys lifted an eyebrow, her voice flat. “I thought they were all dead.”

“They are,” Varys continued. “But Robert’s son remains in the Stormlands.”

“The queen does not need to fear one of Robert’s bastards,” said Ser Barristan, rolling his eyes.

“She does if Shireen is usurped. Gendry has a fair claim to Storm’s End if she does, not to mention the Iron Throne.”

“I am told he is also the spitting image of his father,” Tyrion added. “Strength and all.”

Dany rose from her chair and began to pace, lacing and unlacing her long white fingers. “Really, this is all getting rather boring, Lord Varys. Do you think me so weak-willed and unpopular that I am threatened by one of Robert Baratheon’s bastards?”

“He _was_ king once.”

“And I am queen _now_.”

“Yes, you are,” he said, licking his lips. “And if you want to stay queen, you must distract your enemies with more trivial matters. Shireen will not have the time to plan an attack on the King’s Landing if she is concerned about the custodianship of her own household.”

The Silver Queen quirked an eyebrow, quite pleased with her new Master of Whispers.

“And who knows,” he continued. “Perhaps, in a year’s time, you will not have to worry about them at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'll be keeping my chapters sort of short in this fic, but I'll be sure to update fairly often. Hope you like where it's going and, as always, responses of all kinds are very welcome.


	4. Chapter 4

The dreams were becoming more frequent. Shireen stood on the beaches of Dragonstone, holding her father’s hand as they marched through a crowd of their enemies. Most were draped in red and black, carrying the House Targaryen sigil, but they parted for the last two remaining members of House Baratheon.

“Where’s Mother?” Shireen asked, as she did each time.

And her father remained quiet, only tightening his hold around his daughter’s wrist. His blue eyes were clouded with an unmatched grief. Grief for his throne, grief for his wife, grief for his Hand, the Red Woman, his advisors, his army. Grief for the Seven Kingdoms damned to ruin.

The march was long and hard, harder than any road she had endured in the North. Soldiers hissed their names like curses, spat on her father’s boots.

“Foul girl, unclean girl!”

She looked up at her father again, hoping he would defend her against the insult. But he had no weapon, no Lightbringer to shield her from the darkness. He only pulled her closer.

At last they reached a clearing on the beach. Daenerys Targaryen stood upon a scaffold, with her Queensguard beside her. Her black dragon was curled atop a large stone near them, its big yellow eyes peering at Shireen.

 “Stannis Baratheon,” she said, in a thunderous voice. “You are brought here to answer the crime of treason.”

Her lord father bristled at the accusation, but kept quiet.

"You have nothing to say?”

“My daughter is guilty of no crime,” he spoke strongly, against all the cries for his death from the audience. “I demand that she be released, and be allowed to return home.”

Daenerys nodded. “Yes, I will allow it, if you renounce your claim to the Iron Throne and swear fealty to me, your rightful queen.”

“You have already marred me a traitor. My fealty means nothing to you, nor anyone.”

“It does to your daughter.”

Still holding her hand, Stannis looked at Shireen. His heavy blue gaze was dark with sorrow and defeat. He mouthed the words, “Forgive me.”

He then turned to the Silver Queen. Finally letting go of his daughters hand, Stannis knelt before her. “I yield to your rule. I renounce all claim to the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms.”

“No!” Shireen screamed. “No, Father, _please_!”

“Good,” was all Daenerys said. With a very pleased smile and gentle, summoning hand motion, her soldiers came forward and grabbed Shireen. She flailed her arms and legs, her hands reaching for her father as they pulled her into the crowd.

“No!” said the queen. “Leave her here.”

“But your majesty, she is only a child—” said one of her knights, stepping towards her on the scaffold.

“—And children must learn from their parents’ mistakes.” She moved forward to address Shireen directly. “Look, look upon your father.”

She did.

“He is no king.”

He was. Even in his brutish state, even with gaping wounds and a limp from combat he was a king. He did not need the crown; he did not care for its splendor and neither did she. He faced his daughter with a strange, reassuring stare. _The war is not over, princess. This is only one battle._

“He is a traitor, and I will not tolerate any more traitors in my realm.” Her tone grew severe. “Not today, not ever.”

Tears began to run down Shireen’s face. She knew what was next, the same agony she had had to endure every night for months.

“Dracarys.”

 

Shireen awoke screaming, her fingernails clawing at her face. The scar tissue fell like ash onto the bed. She thought she was in hell until she realized that the moonless night had kept her room shrouded in darkness.

She heard the chamber door open.

“I’m fine,” she cried out, embarassed and weeping. “Please go, I’m sorry. Go back to bed.”          

“Alright.” It was Rickon’s voice. “I thought something was wrong.”

“It’s fine, Rickon. I’m sorry to disturb your sleep.”

The bold young Stark stepped into her room with a candle. He was oddly fully clothed. “You weren’t disturbing me. I was already awake.”

“Awake?” Suddenly realizing she was scantily clad, Shireen covered her thin nightgown with a blanket. “What are you doing?”

“Hunting”

“At this hour?”

“Shaggy is hungry and… ” his eyes drifted over her. “I had a lot on my mind.”

“Like?”

He moved closer and knelt beside her, lighting a candle on her bedside table. He then raised a single finger to her cheek. “You’re crying.”

She brushed away the tears with her palms. “It’s nothing.”

“And bleeding.”

“What?”

Before she could get to it, Rickon ran his knuckles gently across her face. His hands caught her blood, which he revealed in the faint candlelight.

Shireen wanted to die from humiliation. She had never felt so exposed.

“Was it the same dream?” he asked.

“Yes. My father bent the knee.”

Rickon lowered his face. He must have known how difficult it was for her to admit her lord father’s shame, even in a dream. “He did it for you. So you could live.”

“So I could live,” she repeated softly. “What good is that? My father died so I could be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but here I am, in Storm’s End… crying like a little girl.”

“You’re allowed to cry.”

“No. I’m not.”

“And you’re safe. That’s what he would have wanted.”

She broke into a smile. “No, it’s not.”

“Well, even still, it doesn’t matter.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “You are the Lady of Storm’s End, and even if you are not queen yet, you must keep on.”

“Is that what you do?”

“Aye.” He met her smile with his own. “I’m always on the hunt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting a little more comfortable with the subject matter I think. I know it's been unfocused but I'm trying to zero-in on the weird dynamic between Shireen and Daenerys as well as her relationship with Rickon. I hope you didn't mind the divergence in the previous chapter too much, but again, I'm trying to focus on Shireen more in these next upcoming chapters. Of course, all responses are very welcome and I really appreciate everyone's support!


	5. Chapter 5

Dawn crept over Rickon and Shireen as they rode further into the woods. The direwolf raced ahead of them, moving doggedly through the undergrowth. Shireen tightened her hold on the reigns, careful not to overexert her mare too quickly. It had been quite sometime since she had gone hunting, with all of the distress and subsequent celebration regarding her status, and so many young lords to oblige.

She looked at Rickon. It seemed as though no knight could match him in combat or wit, which he sought to prove time and time again in the training fields and feast hall alike. None could compare to his look, nor his ferocity. With his sweeping red-brown hair and fair summer skin, he was a Tully, but he had possessed of their famed gentility; he was a Stark, truly, and his grey eyes darkened like winter had come again. Even in the gardens, even beneath beams of sunlight through the trees, he bore a hard, austere face.

But that did not mean he did not smile deeply in her presence.  

He pulled ahead of her, shooting her a fiery smirk while his horse jumped over a branch.

She smiled back at him, trying to keep an air of indifference about her. This was meant to be a casual ride, not another way in which he could show off his natural gifts in front of her.

She veered her mare to the left and took a different path through the forest, lifting her head to the treetops. Summer was beginning to bring back the lush nature of the Stormlands, and she basked in early morning air like she never could in Dragonstone. She had longed for freedom her whole life, and now that she had it, she wasn’t sure if she could give it up for some handsome young lord and a fine castle. If only the nightmares would stop.

She made her way into a clearing, slowing her pace to a final halt when she saw a small deer grazing in the distance. The doe turned to Shireen with pricked white ears, but did not stir. Shireen smiled. She thought most of the deer had been removed from centuries of hunting by Storm Kings, but, for the first time, was glad to be wrong. There must be a herd nearby: a little family with a fawn and a stag. Her parents’ faces flashed across her mind, regal and silent.

Or perhaps the doe was the last of her herd.

The thunder of hooves sent her into the brush. Rickon appeared from the trees, his brow furrowed in concern.

“I thought I lost you.”

“You’re not that lucky.”

“Lucky? Your guard would have my head if they knew I let you escape.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Escape?”

“That’s what you were doing, wasn’t it?” His tone grew somber. “Escaping my ‘insufferable nature.’”

“Where did you hear that?”

“One of your suitors.”

“Who?”

He stayed quiet.

“Rickon.”

“Some twat from the Reach. I don’t know his name.”

She rolled her eyes, knowing well that this was the most she was going to get out of him. “Well, he should not have said that.”

“Even if it’s true?”

“You know it’s not.” She tried to ease the condenscension in her voice. “And since when have you cared about how I feel regarding your behavior? It’s never stopped you before.”

His face warmed. “I would stop if it really bothered you.”

“Alright then. Stop—”

“—Done.”

She broke into laughter. “You don’t even know what it is yet!”

“I would do anything.”

“Cut your hair.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, as if waiting for her to retract the request.

She only looked back at him smugly, her hands still holding the reigns.

He exhaled and pulled out one of the hunting knives from his pocket, grabbing a lock of his hair. “How much?”

“All of it.”

“As you wish.” With that, he raised the knife to his hair.

“Stop!” she cried just as the blade split his hair.

He looked up at her with a wide, incredulous stare. “ _Really_?”

“I’ve decided,” she spoke with a smile spread across her lips. “That I quite like your hair after all.”

“Oh, you do?” He led his horse closer to her. “And you couldn’t have told me this earlier?”

“You said you would do anything.”

A smile spread across his lips as he held out his hand, showing the strands of red-brown hair in his calloused palms. “And I did.”

She felt herself blush. “What if I asked you to shave?”

He rubbed his stubbled chin with his knuckles, considering it for a moment. “Perhaps if you did something for me.”

“Oh, so your devotion to me is conditional?”

“You’re mistaken.” His eyes lingered where they should have not. “The devotion is constant.”

She tried desperately to avoid his gaze and mask her discomfort with a sudden cold tone. “Alright. What is it?”

“Ask me to stay.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to leave, but I won’t stay if you won’t have me.”

She finally looked into his earnest, yearning face. He looked so young to her, though they were only two years apart. She figured he saw her as an answer to his problems, as a refuge from the grim realities that faced him in the North. His brother was the new Lord of Winterfell, trying to rebuild his family’s legacy, and Sansa was the Lady of the Vale, consumed by her new life and role as a bride. It must have been difficult for him to find a place in his new family. He had a distinct fury about him, but Shireen had resigned herself not to the outlet for his frustration.

“You may do as you like,” was all she said.

“You don’t want me to stay?”

“Is that what I said?” she rounded on him, her voice growing louder. “You always do what you like, so what do you want from me?”

“I want… more.”

He made a move to touch her hands, still clasping the reigns, but she pulled away.

“I will be married soon.”

His grey eyes widened. “You can’t—”

“—I want a family. I want protection. If I’m not careful, the Dragon Queen will put my head on a spike, and all of my father’s efforts will be for nothing.” She licked her lips, trying to choose her words carefully. “I need a good marriage to secure my position. There’s too much at stake… I’m sorry.”

He nodded slowly, his head low, before pulling on his horse’s reins. His steed bolted into the woods and Rickon was gone without another word. She watched him vanish helplessly, a darkness surrounding her. He had the blood of wolves; it wouldn’t be long until he found another hunt to occupy himself.

 

Shireen returned to Storm’s End alone, her hair unbound and her hem tattered. Gendry met her in the courtyard in the armor he made himself so many years ago. It looked finer than anything the Stormlands smiths could have produced and bore intricately laced antlers on the collar, as if to remind all of Westeros of his mighty father. All he needed was a hammer.

“My queen.” He dipped his head. “We were looking for you.”

“It is barely morning.”

“Well, you do not leave very often, so I sent out a search party.”

“You are not the castellan, Ser Gendry. You had no right,” she said, dismounting. She faced his clear blue gaze with her own, suddenly realizing that they were the same height. Her older cousin always felt so large to her, and so much stronger than she. “I know you mean well but I am not a child to be looked after.”

He nodded, taking her horse’s reins.

She moved past him. “Tell my guests I will be a while. I’m feeling unwell.”

“Will Rickon Stark be returning soon?”

“I never know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really loving writing about Rickon and Shireen right now, in case that's not obvious. I've had a weird spurt of writing energy so the new chapter is just around the corner :) All responses are greatly appreciated!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! This chapter took a lot longer than expected; I'm planning the overarching plot, and it is definitely difficult to condense into these little sections. See the chapter notes at the bottom for more info on the upcoming nature of the fic.

Shireen held her court far later in the day than her guests had become accustomed to the past few weeks. She received word that morning that she would be receiving Willas Tyrell, much to her mother’s family’s distaste. The Tyrells still held Brightwater Keep as a remnant of Margaery’s short time as queen. Now she was unmarried once more, thrice widowed to false kings.

“I’ve heard Mace has been trying to wed his eldest son to the Targaryen girl,” said Axell Florent, his hands crumbling the parchment. “We should prepare ourselves for war.”

Shireen couldn’t help but smile at her uncle’s refusal to acknowledge Daenerys as queen. He was always so loyal to her lady mother—and now her—even when the war was lost.

“But if she refuses him, he may seek an alliance,” she said. “Willas is known to be the more level-headed of his family.”

“Behind their good looks and kind words, my queen, the Tyrells are ruthless. Do not forget that they sacked Dragonstone while your father fought in the North. They will not hesitate to take your home here as well.”

She nodded slowly. The looming threat of the queen and her dragons did not compare to the Tyrell’s insatiable lust for castles and titles. The loss of the crown had only made them more desperate, and their good standing with Daenerys would only drive them into the Stormlands. For all the queen’s challenges and conquests, it seemed as though she did not want to curtail the Tyrell expansion. At least not now.

“Prepare the men,” she breathed like a prayer.

Axell nodded deeply and left without another word, leaving Shireen to her rooms. Her ladies quickly tended to her, combing her long black hair and presenting gowns for her pleasure. Shireen was still uncomfortable with the riches of Storm’s End. Dragonstone had left of her parents, who had both been raised in beautiful and lush lands, austere in their wears. Shireen considered two gowns in particular: one that was deep red and lined with ermine and another that was a vibrant gold.

“Are you alright, my lady?” said the seamstress. “Are they not to your liking?”

“No, no they are wonderful.” She sensed her own discomfort in her weak voice. “I just don’t know which is best for the occasion.”

“Which one do you prefer?”

Shireen’s hands brushed the gold fabric, her eyes suddenly heavy with sadness and shame. She was not the heir King Robert wanted for the Seven Kingdoms or even for Storm’s End. Myrcella shined like a jewel in bright patterns and even her bastard cousin Mya Stone was lovely in her father’s colors. But Shireen knew she was no great beauty, and to even drape herself in Baratheon cloth seemed to draw attention to that sad fact.

The seamstress smiled knowingly and looked to one of Shireen’s maids, who pulled the gold gown from the bed.

“You ought to remind the Tyrells,” she whispered, holding it in front of Shireen in the mirror. “That despite all their marriages, you were the one true queen all along.”

 

Shireen stood in the courtyard, awaiting the heir to Highgarden while her Stark ward was still nowhere to be found. She looked over her shoulder, examining the welcome party behind her. The gold gown certainly maid her stand out; almost all of her guests were dressed in red and blue velvet, fox fur, and ermine. The soldiers wore stags and foxes on their breastplates, the combined forces of House Baratheon and Florent suddenly appearing quite large along the castle walls. Winter had ended and the houses seemed to have recovered rather quickly.

Willas and his guard rode into the Storm’s End with an odd, triumphant jaunt. His father had attempted to capture the castle some years ago, just before Margaery was imprisoned, and now it seemed as though Willas was completing his work, albeit with only twenty men.

Shireen was unsurprised to find Willas as handsome as the rumors said, bearded and strong despite his condition. He rode rather easily with a tailored saddle embroidered with Tyrell roses and a dark green cloak over his broad shoulders.

He stayed atop his horse for a moment while one of his guard brought him his cane and helped him down. Once he settled to his feet, he turned to Shireen with a smile.

“You’ll have to excuse me. I’m afraid my leg has made me a slower knight than I am sure you are accustomed.”

“My lord.” She dipped her head. “Welcome to Storm’s End.”

“My lady.” He matched her courtesy with a small bow, his bright eyes drifting over her companions for a moment before returning his attention back to her. “You’ll have to excuse me, it just looks much different than when I was here last.”

“When was that?”

“I was here for my sister’s wedding… a long time ago.”

The wedding that almost crushed her father’s forces on these very fields. The wedding that betrayed the supremacy of the Baratheons and Florents.

She tried to put it out of her mind. “I’m sure it was beautiful.”

“It was.”

“Are you hungry? We have prepared a feast to celebrate your arrival.”

“Indeed I am, however I would like to rest for a while, if that’s alright.” He gestured to his leg, his smile unwavering. “The journey was quite difficult on me.”

“Of course. I’ll have one of my ladies escort to your chambers.”

“Might you escort me, Lady Shireen? I would be most honored.”

“As you wish,” she said, taking his arm. In the corner of her eye she could see her uncle glaring at him, and she wondered if Willas knew how dangerous it was to be surrounded by so many members of House Florent.

They moved slowly through the halls, pausing between short steps. Willas seemed to delight in their walk, curiously scrutinizing her face as they talked about senseless things. It wasn’t until they were far from prying eyes that he began a true conversation.

“You remind me so much of him, you know.”

“Who?” she asked, expecting to hear her father’s name.

“Your uncle Renly.”

“Really?”

“Is it so surprising?”

“No, it’s just…” her voice trailed off, not quite sure what she thought of the comparison. “I’ve never been compared to Renly before.”

He shrugged. “I thought not. He had quite a talent for attracting friends and companions.”

“As did my father.”

“I don’t think Renly was a warlike as your father, though.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t think I have a talent for war?”

“It was not meant as an insult. Most women shy from war.”

“I am not most women,” she said dryly. “And I do not think your queen would agree with you.”

“My queen…” he grinned widely at the phrase. “It was not so long ago that my sister was queen.”

“I’m sure you will find yourself atop fortune’s wheel soon enough, my lord.”

“You must know something I do not.”

“I know only that you are a Tyrell.”

“And you’re a Baratheon. A rather important one, too.” He peered at her. “The Lady Paramount of the Stormlands.”

“Yes, I am very grateful for the kindness the queen has shown me.” She tried desperately to hide the disdain in her voice. She sensed his prodding through masked words and coded language.

“You are grateful to the queen that took your father’s crown? I think I would burn the whole of the Seven Kingdoms if the same thing happened to my father.”

“Well then, perhaps then you are right about women and our ‘natures.’ We may not be warlike, but we do have enough sense to retire when the war is lost. And the war _is_ lost, Lord Willas.” They approached a large wooden door. “At least for me.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

Willas stepped in front of her and opened the door himself, revealing one of the larger rooms in Storm’s End, with a window that overlooked Shipbreaker Bay. His smile only widened as he examined it.

“Don’t tell me this is the same room you stayed in the last time you were here,” she spoke coolly.

“No, I don’t think it was. To be honest, I don’t remember much about the wedding. It all went by so fast.”

“I’m sure it did.”

“I shall be glad to see another wedding here soon.”

“Pardon?”

“Yes, the wedding.” There was a delightful glint in his eyes. “Of Ser Gendry and Lady Jocelyn Selmy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah, no Rickon this chapter. He'll be back in the next one. The nature of this story - which I hope is at least somewhat clear - is highly political so I'm going to be going into some plot-stuff, which definitely darkens the overall narrative, especially compared to my previous two lovey/awkward Rickon and Shireen chapters. So please keep that in mind as you read - I will definitely try to balance the two tones, but I want Shireen and her struggle to deal with Daenerys as queen to be the central element. I also understand that I'm writing her a little "cold" but I thought it made the most sense creatively considering her background, current circumstances, and (few) family relationships 
> 
> As always, I appreciate all comments/criticism/responses! Updates will be hiking up for the next few weeks (before school starts)!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay, again! I ended up going on a vacation last minute and am trying to get as much out right now before I start school again.

Shireen ascended the stairs like a march, binding the heavy gown in her arms and feeling her hair split from the braids. Tears welled in her eyes and sweat trickled down her brow.

She threw herself into the door, revealing a simple, empty room. The bed was made and the floor had been recently scrubbed. Her gaze immediately fell to the table scattered with letters and notes. She rushed towards it and started grabbing them, unfolding the papers and reading the enscribed names. Almost all of them were marriage proposals.

Shireen’s hands began to shake when she noticed an ink quill strewn across a note marked for the queen. Horrified, she took it.

She felt Gendry’s presence in the doorway before he even spoke to her.

“What…” words slipped from her as her mind raced. “What is this? What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” his voice was the same soft, comforting voice it always was. But now it grated on her patience.

She faced her cousin and walked closer, holding the letter out for him to see. “You are writing to _her_.”

He dropped his head. “Only to thank her.”

“Thank her?” she raised her voice. “You want to thank that… that whore? For what?”

He fell silent.

“You have nothing to say?”

“You know about my engagement.”

“Yes, your engagement to the current Master of War’s niece.” She folded the letter in her hands. “That is quite a match for a knight with no lands or titles.”

“What are you saying?”

“How can you do this to me?” she whispered, her rage sliding to utter despair. “After all my father has done for you.”

He walked towards her, his blue eyes wide and arms outstretched. “What about all I’ve done for you, Shireen? I carried you across the North, endured the long winter, kept you safe from all physical harm and sickness. And I delivered you here, to your home.”

“The same home that you would strip from me the instant you marry Jocelyn Selmy.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The queen will make you the Lord of Storm’s End.” Her bottom lip began to quiver. “She would put me aside, King Robert’s only trueborn heir, and legitimize you.”

“She wouldn’t.”

“Why else would she arrange this marriage? What has she to gain from it?”

“I thought she wanted a lasting alliance between her house and ours.”

“Ours?” she mocked, her voice as dark and cold as the water in Shipbreaker Bay. “You are not of my house, Gendry. You abandoned any relation with me when you orchestrated an alliance with the queen without my consent.”

The black and gold knight stood dumbfounded and silent as the Storm Queen pushed past him and out the doorway without another word. She collected herself as she descended he staircase, wiping the tears from her face.

 

It had been a very long time since Shireen held dinner in the Great Hall and did not sit beside Gendry or Rickon. She remembered picking at her food during the long winter, wanting to cry as she waited for news of her father’s campaign, all while listening to Gendry’s endless, encouraging words.

“You’re the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms,” he would whisper in her ear, his arm around her. “You have to be strong… and eat your vegetables.”

Not so much later did her father and Lord Manderly decide that Rickon should be a ward of Storm’s End until he comes of age, and Shireen bowed her head to a young boy who she thought would be the future Lord of Winterfell. Their betrothal was suggested as well, though her father did not consent to the match before his death. She always wondered why he delayed, when her safety might have been assured with an alliance with such a powerful family.

But, she had to remind herself, they were not so powerful before the end of the war. Now they had Winterfell and the Eyrie under their influence.

She looked to Willas Tyrell, seated beside her and engaged in a lively conversation with Lord Estermont. If Shireen ever wanted to sit the Iron Throne she would need to be backed by a powerful army, and the Tyrells were unmatched in that respect. Moreover, there was a possibility of returning Brightwater Keep to her mother’s family and ending the rivalry between their houses.

And yet she was still unsure if she wanted to rebel against the queen, only to be crushed against her dragons and the might of most of the Seven Kingdoms. Looking at all her companions and loyal storm lords, it seemed foolish to engage with her, at least right now. But she could not ignore the ever-present fear of the Targaryen wrath on her doorstep.

“What’s wrong, Gendry? Think the food is poison?”

Her gaze landed on Gendry’s sour countenance at a nearby table. He had been getting on well with one of the younger Estermont girls the past few days, but tonight her flirtations were wasted on him.

“What’s wrong, Ser Gendry?” she said sweetly, her dark brown hair falling over her pretty bare shoulders as she held up a piece of meat for him. “It’s not poison.”

He immediately lifted from his seat and left the feast. Shireen felt his cool stare on her, but refused to give him the satisfaction of her attention.

Willas noticed Gendry’s leave and leaned over to Shireen. “It seems your cousin is already faithful to his future wife.”

She forced a smile. “Yes it seems so.”

“I haven’t met the girl, but I hear she’s quite lovely.”

“Yes, Gendry is very lucky. The queen was clever to think of the match.”

“The queen?”

She quirked a brow at him. “Come now, Lord Willas. Don’t pretend you don’t know every move the queen makes.”

He smiled. “I only know what I’ve been told.”

“And you’re told everything.” She licked her lips, moving away from him. “I know your father is trying to procure an alliance between House Tyrell and the crown.”

“My father is his own man. He does what he likes.”

“And you do everything he says?”

“Wouldn’t you do everything your father says if he was still alive?”

Shireen didn’t answer.

Willas’ smile widened. “Of course you would, because you are a dutiful daughter and you owe your father a lot for your present circumstances, for better or worse.” He paused for a moment, lowering his voice. “I, however, am not an entirely dutiful son.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, if it were up to him, I would be a long time married by now, with several children of my own.”

She nodded, silent again.

Willas took it upon himself to keep speaking, his eyes glimmering with delight. “Not that I wouldn’t consider it.”

“She’d certainly have to be a prize to garner your attention.”

“Yes, she would.”

_With pretty silver hair and three dragons_ , she thought to herself.

“You know, that’s why I’m here,” he continued. “I didn’t want to send a raven to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” she asked, feeling the heat of all the Florents’ gazes on her.

“I am considering an alliance with the queen, but Daenerys Targaryen is not the queen I seek.”

Shireen was quiet for a moment, furrowing her brow. “All your family has ever done is refute my claim to the Seven Kingdoms.”

“You and your father were true threats to my house. I am not blind to the coarse attitude of your mother’s family towards mine; we knew where we would end up if we supported your father.”

“So what are you proposing exactly?”

“Marriage.”

“With you?”

His eyes brightened. “Yes, of course.”

“You are too old.”

He laughed heartily, the way the Lord of Highgarden should. “My grandmother thought the same, but you are not a girl anymore, and I may not be as young as you may have wished, but I am still somewhat spry and will treat you well.”

“What else can you offer me?”

“You will be the Lady of Highgarden and Storm’s End.”

“And you will be the Lord of both.”  

“Our children will rule over a united South, the wealthiest and most fertile region in all the Seven Kingdoms.”

She thought for a moment. “Why should I believe that this proposal is genuine?”

“The Targaryen queen is barren,” he spoke softly, leaning in closer. “Any marriage to her will be fruitless, and the people will know that soon enough. I want to fight for a queen who has a future.”

Shireen’s heartbeat quickened. If this was true then the crown would unquestioningly pass to her. “How do you know that she is barren?”

“My father was informed by Varys, the queen’s current Master of Whispers.”

She straightened her back. “I will consider your offer. But only if Brightwater Keep returns to House Florent.”

His face twisted. “Brightwater Keep belongs to my brother. Perhaps another castle—”

“—It is my mother’s home. Its return to the Florents is non-negotiable.”

“I’m afraid that might be too much, my lady.”

“You are marrying a true-born queen and securing your children’s place in the line of succession,” she said evenly. “I’m sure your father would agree to those terms.”

He looked at her for a moment, his face returning to its default pleased expression. “I’m glad House Baratheon has not lost its talent for political maneuvering.”

 

The feast ended late into the evening, and Shireen bid Willas goodnight with a polite bow before making her way towards the tower. She walked proudly through a crowd of Florents and Tyrells. She soaked in the whispers that surrounded her and creeped into her ears: talk of marriage and a new great rebellion under their stalwart Storm Queen and gallant Lord of Roses. _This was it_ , she thought to herself, _this was the beginning of my rise_.

Her ladies held her dress as she climbed the stone steps, the same built by her ancestor, King Durran, and captured by another ancestor, Orys Baratheon. She envisioned crowned stags draped across the Red Keep, burning and furious just like her house words. Her fingers traced the stone walls, and she could not stop beaming. Gendry’s betrayal meant nothing to her; she would be queen soon and he would fade into obscurity, just as he would have if her father had survived.

One of her maids stepped in front of her and opened the door, revealing Rickon sitting on her bed, his head low. Shireen wished she was surprised.

“You’re back.”

“I need to speak with you,” he said.

She nodded and looked to her ladies. “Leave us.”

They obeyed quietly, sweeping from the room. When the door shut, Rickon rose from the bed and walked towards her. “I’m sorry I was gone for so long.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. I told you before that you can come and go as you please.”

He glanced at the door. “Even when you marry?”

“So this is why you’ve come back, Rickon?” She moved towards the mirror and began to unravel her braids. “To chide me?”

“I came back to tell you not to marry him.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

She turned to face him, suddenly aware of how close he was to her. His breath burned against hers, and she felt his hands close around her waist.

“I can’t…” she whispered, her throat heavy and gaze low.

“Why, because I’m not the heir to Highgarden?”

“Maybe that’s what I want.”

Rickon twisted the ends of her black hair in his finger. “It’s not.”

“Stop telling me what I am and what I need. You don’t understand me, you don’t know what I’m going through.”

“I don’t understand?”

“You understand loss. You know it better than anyone, but you don’t know what it’s like to be a political pawn, to be surrounded by people actively fighting for my success or destruction, just so they can rise. I feel like I’m constantly drowning.”

“And you think Willas Tyrell can rescue you?”

“He may.” Even as she said it, she felt dishonest. Rickon was inches from her face, his grey eyes full of determination and his mouth parted, and she may have wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Brushing her face with his hands, he leaned in to kiss her. His lips were rough against hers but she could not move away. She let him take her into his arms, falling sweetly into his scent and hard chest. When they parted, he was smiling.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “So have I.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because I was not born for happiness.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah, a pretty eventful chapter. I was thinking of separating these scenes into different chapters but I really wanted to emphasize the short amount of time in which these life-changing events occurred (basically one evening). I hope everything is pretty easy to follow right now because it's going to get a lot darker in the coming chapters. As always, feedback of all types is appreciated! More is on the way very soon!


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